


blood on snow

by wrizard



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Hades (Video Game) Canon-Typical Temporary Death, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Punitive Rape, Whump, no one in this story has a good time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrizard/pseuds/wrizard
Summary: This is much bigger than you, boy. You could ruin everything. I have to stop you. I have to do this.You shudder. Every breath pierces through you like a burning sword. His gaze, blazing, turns back to you.If I must break you to keep this kingdom safe, break you I shall.
Relationships: Hades/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46





	blood on snow

**Author's Note:**

> MIND THE TAGS.

_What will it take,_ he roars, _for you to listen._

His spear plunges deep into the meat of your shoulder, piercing flesh and bone as easily as snow. Red-hot agony crashes through your body, swirls in your guts. You scream.

_Tell me, boy._

You try to pull away from the pain, ancient instincts shouting to curl up, show your belly, run and hide. The spear twists. Searing pain. Your body convulses. Your heart hammers. The snow beneath melts as your hot blood pours out. You have nothing left but terror.

“Father,” you beg. Your breath bubbles, mouth full of iron. He must have pierced a lung.

He looms over you, wide and immoveable as a mountain. Golden ichor drips from slashes on his arms, his chest, across his forehead where you got lucky. A drop hits your chiton with a tiny sizzle, loud against the silent stillness of dead winter, quiet against your wet, ragged gasps.

_Reason. Warnings. None of it turns your fool head._

With a slick sucking sound, he rips his spear from your body. You shake, muscles spasming, blood spilling out, soaking your chiton a deeper red. You cough, and blood wells up in your mouth. Tears streak uselessly down your face. You try to plead, to beg, but when you inhale, the vicious, stabbing pain of a collapsed lung makes you choke instead.

He steps down, crouching in the snow. Soft, golden lines of ichor trace the deep worry lines on his brow. His face is cold and flat. Determined, like he is when he’s made up his mind, when the only option left is one he doesn’t like, but must choose.

Carefully, he places his spear down in the snow.

_This is much bigger than you, boy. You could ruin everything. I have to stop you. I have to do this._

You shudder. Every breath pierces through you like a burning sword. His gaze, blazing, turns back to you.

_If I must break you to keep this kingdom safe, break you I shall._

Your father always said of his family that their morals left much to be desired. How they toyed with humans, played games, tenderly cultivated violence and suffering to sate their greed and pride. How they punished others for simple misdeeds. He spoke with disgust of their appetites for sacrifice, for destruction. For _ravishment_. He spat out the word, when he told you; like it coated his tongue in something foul-tasting and poisonous. When he looked at you, his eyes were empty, lost in some old pain you could not see.

It’s the same emptiness you see now.

Animal fear seizes you, and you shove yourself backward as hard as you can. You slide a few inches, helped by the blood-slick snow. Your voice is a constant, low, gurgling whine, slack tongue barely shaping the words, “No, no, no, no, no – ”

He lets you exhaust yourself. Only when you drop back to the dirt does he crawl forward, leaning over you, blocking out the sky. Clinically, casually, he rips down your leggings. The icy air cuts like a razor across your thighs.

Stop, you think. You don’t have to do this. I’ll stop. I’ll listen. I’ll do what you want. I’m barely lying at all. The only sound that leaves you is a bubbling wheeze.

Your father eyes you. For a moment, heart in your mouth, you think he’s going to grab you, paw at your genitals in some mockery of lovemaking. He doesn’t. With no harsh comment or dry scoff, he takes your hips in his massive, bruising hands and flips you on your stomach.

Pure agony. Something in your destroyed shoulder grinds against something else. Blood and ice and mud slap onto your bare legs, crush against your belly and your privates. You scream, of course. It doesn’t stop him.

Your mouth fills with muddy spit as you sob. His thick fingers pry at you, pulling you open, prodding at your entrance. Then, with a great pressure and a stabbing, ripping pain –

He’s inside you.

With no strength left to hold back, you vomit. Bile and blood shoot up your nose in a burning stream. Your world narrows to the thick, burning stab of him, rocking back and forth, taking you with him until he plants a single boulder-like hand on your back and presses down. His fingers span the width of you, his hot palm a brand across your ribcage. He grunts, thrusts, and a few of your ribs give out with a sharp crack.

You can’t feel your shattered arm at all, anymore. You almost wish you could. It might be something to hold onto that isn’t a cacophony of agony in your guts. Your father grinds you into the dirt, hips slapping against your small, bare thighs.

He growls, picking up speed.

A great exhaustion washes over you, and you let your eyes fall shut. Surely the flames of your feet are nearly out. Surely it’s almost over. Your whining is hoarse, pitiful against his harsh breath. All you want is to die. Hermes, you think, fetch me before Thanatos can see.

_Remember this_ , he growls above you. _Remember what I can do to you._

Your body loses its edges. You can’t feel your hands, your feet, your limbs. It’s only you and the snow and the monster ravaging those last warm parts of you. Your head spins with the familiar dizzy spiral of blood loss. The cool mud is soothing on your hot cheeks. The heavy scent of blood and dirt covers everything but a whisper of parchment and smoke. A vague memory comes to you, of being smaller, of that hint of fire, and a deep, booming laugh to match your bright one. Riding on your father’s shoulders, clutching his thick, dark hair in your hand. Smiling. Huge and warm and safe.

“Father,” you gasp. “Help me.”

With a final rending spasm, your heart gives out.

The water of the Styx pulls you down, drowning you in its gentle embrace. The last sound you hear is a deep one, one you’ve never heard before – a heavy, broken sob.

**Author's Note:**

> A follow-up story is in the works; I will link it when it's posted, hopefully within the week!


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